


mr. fix-it

by wtfmulder



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Crack, F/M, Just Absolute Goddamn Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-25
Updated: 2017-05-25
Packaged: 2018-11-04 20:22:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10998303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wtfmulder/pseuds/wtfmulder
Summary: Scully has a fetish. Sequel to "get your fix."





	mr. fix-it

**Author's Note:**

> Drunk writing is fun.

Three things noticed by Dana Scully in the dawn of her apparent sexual renaissance:  


3\. She is embarrassingly unoriginal to the point of absurdity, her fantasies a conglomeration of everything anyone else has found attractive. She’s been yearning for a Honda and photochromic lenses anyway. In her wildest he dons a pair of tight old blue jeans and never a shirt. Maybe there’s a ranch involved, a broken down car, sometimes there’s even two of him. The important thing is that he remains shirtless.

2\. Life is much easier when you remember to masturbate. Now she never forgets.

1\. Mulder is constantly flexing.

She’s never known need quite like this. Internally she’s playfully slapping herself on the ass even as she pleads with God to end the madness. She’s a healthy, somewhat functioning adult female after all, and who knew hormone production was never a science and only a game. Her body is finally doing what it’s meant to do, seek out some poor dumb male to be fruitless and make believe with, even if the specimen that sets off its most primal, most basic, must wholly consuming (to a degree beyond reason), most… incessant… urges…

Is without a doubt the most irresponsible person it could possibly be. Because…

“Scully–”

Spending nearly every waking moment with that person…

“Could you hand me that file?”

Can get…

“Right in front of you. The Millerton case.”

Just a tiny bit…

“To your left.”

Frustrating.

“Mulder,” Scully growls, ducking out from where he unintentionally pinned her. There’s probably an imprint of his belt buckle somewhere hideously inappropriate. “For someone who so adamantly defends the possibility of a spirit dimension, one might hope you’d leave some room for the Holy Ghost.”

“What’s a little diminished personal space between…” he flips like a storm through the file before tossing it angrily back on the desk. “Fools, Scully. Between damnable fools.”

Oh, God. Not this. She doesn’t have time for this. It’s four forty-five p.m. She’s about to pack up her crap and leave burn marks on the beltway so she can make it home in time for her date with her bathtub and an imaginary Mulder who doesn’t reach past her pelvis. She does not have time for his “Woe is me, my life’s work is a joke” bullshit today.

“What is it, Mulder?” She asks anyway, because she’s very fond of him. His answering grin bears malice.

“Our 302 has been hoisted merrily up the ladder. Skinner claims he can’t approve that kind of request on his own.”

“You mean the request for a submarine. The request for an actual, fully functioning Navy-issued DSRV.”

“That’s the one. They’re going to sit on that for a week just to spite us.”

“Your desk chair missed you, Mulder.” She turns away from him to begin packing her things. Thank God. He’s just excited. No pep talks, no need to stroke his (lushious) hair or his (humongous) ego. She can afford to leave a little early, especially if they’re on desk dut–

“Hey, Scully?” Damn it. Damn it all to hell. That’s his hesitant, hopeful voice. That’s his pouty-boredom bruised bottom lip. That’s her perfect before-the-worst-of-traffic get away, jumping bridges without a note. “What are you doing this weekend?”

She furrows her brow, surprised. Normally when he wants to infiltrate her plans, he plays all cool and disaffected until he convinces himself he’s doing her a favor. Or he just does it. Increasingly more often, after that lousy vacation attempt had exposed them for the co-dependent nimrods they really are. 

“Well, Mulder…” it doesn’t occur to her to lie to him. There’s not enough time to think it through. “Tomorrow I’m waiting for maintenance to drop by to fix a leak in my sink. I doubt they’ll actually show up, though. I’ve been having a miserable time coordinating with them.” 

He nods his head slowly. She watches the gears turn. How will Fox Mulder barge in on that unexpected slice of domesticity? It’s not really his style. His faucet has been leaky for years. “Why don’t I come fix it for you?”  


“Mulder, do you even know how to fix a sink?” She asks confusedly, cocking her head. “And after that whole thing with… your neighbor…”

“I’m over it,” he waves his hand in the air like he hadn’t brooded for three weeks and guarded his cups like a hawk. “And thank you for that vote of confidence, Scully. Any guy can fix a sink.”  
  
That’s unlikely, she thinks. Please gather me some evidence for that one. But his eyes are very soulful, and he is very persuasive. She says yes.  
  
This is a mistake, she realizes too late, when one session in the bathtub and two in her bed have not, in the slightest, abated her hunger. 

***

It’s kind of a disaster. He shows up with a smile and the wrong wrench that she immediately replaces with the right one, and he goes to work.  
  
She tries to ignore him. She does. She regrets ever allowing this to happen. She offers him iced tea and reads her book and fumbles around her apartment and forgets they were ever friends who had great conversations and a long, complicated history.  
  
When he screws up and the water starts gushing out of the pipes, Scully isn’t surprised. But she is certainly caught off guard when he curses and lifts his shirt over his head, whipping it into the sink and drying himself off with a kitchen towel. She tries to, but she cannot ignore the droplets of water collecting in the hollows of his clavicle, his belly button, the bulges of his muscles and…

***

Her closet, next. She’s installed the new knob three times, she laments, and can’t seem to get it right. 

He solves the case of the unruly knob. That was easier than I thought, he says, surprised, and she misses the pleased look on his face because she’s too busy staring at his biceps.  
  
***  
  
Scully is a goddamn doctor. Scully went through her father’s toolbox at age eleven and used every one of them until she understood how they worked and used them again, just to make sure. Scully was the problem solver in her little college dorm. Scully’s never had a boyfriend feel comfortable with her tendency to just grab a wrench and go at it whenever something goes wrong.  
  
Scully mourn the loss of this reputation. Scully forgets to mourn the day Mulder comes over to fix her A.C. on a particularly hot day. He takes off his shirt, finally, and she imagines licking the sweat from his rock hard abs.  
  
***

She starts having a thing for his back the day he tries to fix her tub. The ass is a given, but the back is an unexpected surprise. She watches it flex and strain and resists the urge to tear it up with her nails while he bends over and makes things worse.

***

It quickly becomes a whole body thing. She just wants the whole thing. It’s the day their rental breaks down and suddenly she forgets all about the countless hours tinkering with her brothers’ cars when there was nothing else to do on the base besides kiss boys with bad buzz cuts and shoot guns. She did both, but she also liked messing with the cars.

***  
  
This.

***  
  
Has become.  
  
***  
  
A problem.

  
***  
  
That does, eventually, get solved.

She can’t believe he hasn’t caught on. She can’t believe he’s taking all of these hits to his ego. It’s almost suspicious, but Mulder… is bad at deceit, especially when that deceit involves him looking like an idiot every time. But he heeds her vague aside comments whenever she drops the bait, starts to offer every time she mentions whatever minor tragedy her apartment has suffered.  
  
Normally when he leaves she gives herself a minute to calm down, to wash out their cups and try and undo whatever havoc his fix it skills have wreaked on her house.

 But today he was messing with the light fixture, hoisted up on a stepping stool with his tongue hanging out of his mouth and his hips hanging out of his shirt. His jeans were slung low on his hips. She watched them fall.. And fall… and fall… and she followed that happy trail to its inevitable conclusion. And she got lost. Boy, did she get lost. 

He breaks the bulb and he leaves and she presses herself against the sink and does it, right there. Slips her fingers into her cotton shorts and cups her hand over her mouth and asks herself what the hell is wrong with her. God, what the hell is wrong with her. Her shorts are sticking to her thighs. She’s hot all over. She’s going to die like this, a little ball of unceasing sexual deviancy, forced to masturbate like a mad woman over broken light fixtures as her apartment crumbles to pieces around her.  
  
She doesn’t hear the door open.  
  
“Scully?” Mulder chokes.  
  
***

Scully will need a new light fixture, and a plumber, and a mechanic, and a new vase for the dining room, and a new kitchen chair.

“You like me, Scully?” he punctuates with a thrust so deep it knocks the table back a little, and she clutches onto his shoulders for dear life. “You like watching me?” Her mother’s crystal in a million little pieces on the floor. “You like my big fucking cock inside you?” Her brains pouring out of her ears and joining the spilled tea.  
  
“Jesus _Christ_ , Mulder,” she gasps. Oh, Jesus. Her nails dig into his back and she’s most certainly trying to skin him. When he gets a brutal grip in her hair and tugs, hard, she sees stars. She sees space crafts. She sees the universe expanding and planets coming together and she sees herself on this table being fucked within an inch of her life.  
  
“Cuz I like it too, Scully. All of it. Especially,” he grinds his hips pressed flush against her and looks down at where they’re joined, at where he’s pounding in and out of her. “Especially this. I love it. Love how prettily you take it. So fucking _pretty_ , Scully,” he whispers in her ear, biting down on the lobe. “Love,” he says around her flesh. “Love how pretty your pussy is and how much you love being fucked.” 

 There is something to ignoring sexual tension until the absolute breaking point, Scully ponders dazedly, as he yanks her head back to begin sucking on the already-bruised column of her throat. Until it’s driven you mad with want and made you so desperate you’re miserable and God damnit she is so wet that the sounds are making her blush and he slips all the way out every so often, a casualty that makes them both frenzied.

“Touch yourself,” he murmurs into her jaw, and she shakes her head. He grunts and squeezes his fingers in her ass, already red and numb from his earlier ministrations. “Do it, Scully.”  
  
“Don’t wanna come–”  
  
“I said touch yourself. Do it or I’ll do it. I’ll make you come right now, Scully. You didn’t seem to have a problem earlier.” She bites her lip and complies, very gently grazing the tips of her fingers against her clit. The effect nearly bucks them off the table and her muscles clench so tight around him he almost loses his grip on her. “Jesus christ. What the hell.”

“You told me to,” she argues breathlessly, and continues, wincing when she gets too close to the edge. She eases off a little, only returning when he barks in her ear and threatens to stop fucking her. 

“Yes. Yes, god. I like it too. I like watching you too. I do it all the time.” He’s losing it, panting into her neck as his thrusts grow sloppy, his hands scrabble for purchase on her hips her thighs her ass. “So good. So good getting fucked like this. So good for doing what I told you. Such a good, good fucking girl.” Okay, well. Her voice gets choked in her throat as she comes, her face pressed to the bicep that started all of this, and he follows her soundly, howling into the wreckage of her kitchen and emptying himself into her wired body.  


***

“You just… did it, you did it all, I was so confused,” she muses, petting his head as he nuzzles into her breast and closes his eyes. “I was certain you’d figure it out.”

“Just wanted to spend time with you.”  
  
“I’m a pervert.”  
  
“I’ve noticed.”  
  
“You just wanted to hang out.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“You’re terrible at being a handyman, Mulder.”  
  
“Mhm.”

They lay in silence for sometime, on the couch. The room is cast into complete darkness. She can’t turn on the light because he broke it.  
  
“Do you feel like you got it out of your system?” Mulder asks her sleepily. She gives it some thought.  
  
“Absolutely not.”  



End file.
